Dance of Grace: Chain of Lakes, #2

Summary

In one unexpected moment, dancer Vanessa Jordan lost her family, her career, and her future. She blames God for destroying everything that mattered. Kurt Wagner, an ex-con with a second chance at life and faith, aches to shed his past and see his dream of helping teens become reality. The former dancer and the ex-con form an unlikely alliance to build River House, a safe haven for kids on the street.

When Kurt’s past threatens his dreams and his life, Vanessa becomes a target as well. It will take a stubborn love, the grace of God, and one courageous teen to keep the River House dream alive.

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Dance of Grace - Stacy Monson

Truth

– 1 –

In that moment, Vanessa Jordan was glad her mother was dead.

I’m going to lose the studio. She tightened her grip on the canes and met Stephen’s reluctant gaze squarely.

I’m afraid I’ve run out of options, my dear. The last of the potential buyers said there wasn’t enough equity in the business to justify the purchase. With the accident more than three months ago, most of the clientele have moved on.

Not the seniors. There were twenty in the gentle-dance class I started after Christmas. We were building wonderful relationships in the neighborhood. She couldn’t let go of her mother’s legacy without a fight. And how about the children? There were so many, we had to add a third class.

He slowly shook his head, concern evident in the pinch of his wiry gray eyebrows. The studio has been empty since January. Refunds for the cancelled classes put you in the red. No one is making inquiries about the spring schedule anymore. He sighed. I’m sorry to say, there’s no business left to sell.

His words, though spoken kindly, knocked the air from her lungs. Her gaze drifted around the familiar room. The dance studio had been in this corner of the Minneapolis Uptown area for decades. These walls couldn’t be finished whispering encouragement to young ballerinas with Sugar Plum Fairy dreams or welcoming nervous beginners, reflecting warmth and love to all who spent time here. She owed it to her family to keep the studio running.

What if I found some high school students to teach afternoon classes? I’m sure they’d do it in exchange for a free advanced ballet class. But who would teach the advanced class? She couldn’t now. I don’t need much of a salary anymore. Just enough for the mortgage payment and a few groceries. I’ll think of some more ideas—

Vanessa. Stephen’s gentle voice stopped the rush of words. There’s no money to even pay the missed lease payments.

But Roger has been so kind in the past. I’m sure he’d be willing to wait a little longer until I get on my feet, so to speak, to get caught up. I’ll go talk to him right now.

The space is leased to someone else.

A stinging charge shot through her. What?

He removed his glasses and wiped his face with a wrinkled hanky. The Minneapolis Neighborhood Coalition moves in next week. Roger said he’s willing to forgive the missed payments. He sent his condolences and wanted me to tell you how much he admired your family.

The tightness in her throat strangled any words of gratitude. If he meant it, he wouldn’t let them all fade into a memory. She turned away and ran her fingers along the wooden barre. At one time she’d had to reach up to it—when she was young and full of dreams.

So. Her voice echoed in the emptiness. She looked at the reflection of the man who’d been her mother’s friend and attorney for all of Vanessa’s twenty-four years. He’d always been kind to her and her siblings, like she imagined a favorite uncle might have been. This had to be hard on him too.

So, she said again, facing him with shoulders set. Do I need to sign something?

Yes. He moved to the counter to retrieve the envelope he’d brought. Pulling out a handful of papers, he sorted through them. This one is from the bank. This one is from Roger. And this one too.

As she scribbled her name on each, he considered the nearly empty room. There isn’t much for inventory. Shall I try to sell the mirrors and the barres? You can take the coffee pot home. What would you like to do with the coat rack? And this desk…

His voice faded as decades of memories rushed over her. The wood floor was worn from years of pointe and tap shoes, the paneled walls faded in places where the morning sun had lingered. In the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, she could see the children making faces at each other, chattering as they waited for class to start. How many times had she wiped small handprints off the glass?

Vanessa?

She blinked. I don’t want any of it. Sell it, donate it. Leave it for the Coalition. Chin quivering, she pressed her lips together. Failure added an acidic bite to the bitterness of defeat. If you get any money, give it to Roger for back pay.

Stephen grasped her shoulders, frowning down at her. My dear, this isn’t your fault. You know the studio was in financial trouble before your mother died.

But the accident—

Was an accident. His fingers squeezed gently. I know you blame yourself, but no one else does. Life is just really unfair sometimes.

Thank you, she whispered. He was a kind man. Wrong but kind.

He released her with a sigh. I’ll get these papers delivered. And I’ll drop you at home on the way.

I think I’ll stick around for a few minutes and then walk home.

You can walk that far now?

I’ll manage. She put a hand on his arm. Stephen, thank you for everything. My mother treasured your friendship and your counsel. So do I.

He hugged her gently. You’ve all been family to me. I miss them too. Leaning back, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his moustache prickly against her skin. Call me if you need anything.

I will.

He cast a doubtful glance at her canes then his footsteps faded into silence. Vanessa stood still in the middle of the room and breathed deeply, finding the familiar scent of rosin under the stuffiness. Eyes closed, she rose onto the toes of her good foot. Lifting her face, she tried to remember the magic of an arabesque, the freedom of spinning en pointe, the joy of a final bow.

The canes wobbled and she lowered with a thump. That was all she had now—fragile images of dancing, of her mother and Angie and Matt. Of life as she knew it. She found a scrap of paper in the wastebasket and a lone pen. She wrote the simple words slowly, wedged the sign in the window of the door and turned off the lights. The door shut with a final click and she pressed her fingertips to the glass, the letters blurring as she read the words that spelled the end of her dream. Thanks for the memories.

Kurt Wagner stopped at the busy intersection, enjoying a deep breath of spring air and car exhaust. On this bright April morning with the sidewalks of Uptown filled with chatter and activity, who could find anything wrong with life?

He glanced at the clock on the bank sign. Just enough time for his Saturday morning espresso before the meeting started at ten. He might actually be early. Grinning, he turned his attention to the young woman waiting beside him. White-blonde hair gleaming under the sun, she stared down at the ground, leaning heavily on two metal canes. She was way too serious for a Saturday.

Beautiful morning, he said.

She started and glanced up.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.

She returned her gaze to the ground. A moment later, as she dug in her coat pocket, one of her canes toppled onto the asphalt.

Kurt retrieved it. Here you go.

Thank you.

His smile faded. The heavy coat, more suitable for January than April, dwarfed her small frame; the top of her head barely reached his chin. She couldn’t be more than twenty. And the canes…

He tried again. Are you out running errands?

She rolled her eyes. Do I look like I can run anywhere?

Nice choice of words, Wagner. Sorry. I meant, you know, just out getting things done.

She deflated with a sigh. It’s all done.

Before he could think of a reply, the walk sign lit and she stepped gingerly off the curb. He watched her slow, measured progress, then shrugged off his curiosity and shifted his backpack over his shoulder. Drawn to the enticing aromas of The Java Depot just ahead, he passed her quickly.

Look out!

He was nearly across when a shouted warning jerked his head up. From the left, a black sedan raced through the red light, bass pulsing behind tinted windows. Spinning on his heel, he sprinted back and threw an arm toward the girl. He crashed against her and sent them sprawling as the car roared through the intersection, passing so close a current of air swept over them. Several people shouted expletives at the driver.

For a stunned moment, Kurt struggled for air. When the girl squirmed beneath him, he rolled over and sat up, pulling one of her canes from under his legs. She rose on an elbow and put a hand to the back of her head, pale face scrunched in pain. People gathered around and helped them to their feet.

Whoa, man. You almost got nailed. A young boy stood beside him, shirttails flapping, a battered skateboard under his arm.

An older woman hovered near the blonde. Are you all right, dear?

Kurt rubbed his arm that had taken the brunt of the impact then accepted his backpack from the boy. He slung it over his shoulder and flinched. He was going to be sore tomorrow. Several people slapped him on the back.

Nice footwork there, buddy.

You’re a hero.

He bit back a laugh. He’d been called a lot of things over the years but never that. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he nodded his thanks and turned toward the girl. She leaned heavily on a cane with one hand, straightening her coat with the other. Her right leg jutted at a slight angle, as if disconnected from her body.

His breath stuck in his throat. Had he done that? Are you okay?

She pushed the tangle of long hair from her face. I’m fine. Accepting the second cane from the older woman with murmured thanks, she thrust her arm into the support.

But your leg—

"I said I’m fine. Her head lifted and frowning blue eyes challenged him, a striking contrast to her frail appearance. I can take care of myself."

Seriously?

She yanked the errant leg into place. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She turned, wobbled a moment then pressed through the silent onlookers.

Wait! Should he follow her? Leave her alone? Can I at least…

She crossed the street with an awkward step-hop. Kurt stared after her, fists clenched. It didn’t seem right to let her go off by herself, but she clearly didn’t want his help.

A long breath escaped. No matter how hard he tried, he always messed something up. Even being a hero had managed to hurt a complete stranger. What a loser.

Don’t go there. That’s the old Kurt.

Wow, the boy said, still at his side. She’d be, like, dead meat if you hadn’t pushed her. You’d think she’d say thank you or sumpthin’.

I think she was pretty shook up. Thanks for your help, man. He reached a fist toward the boy who bumped it with his own.

No problem. He hopped on his skateboard and pushed off in the direction of the young woman, slowing to look her up and down before speeding ahead.

Kurt remained rooted to the sidewalk, his gaze following the girl. The click of the canes reminded him of his former cellmate, Petey, who’d used something similar. Sturdy, with forearm supports and extra padding around the handles, he’d needed them to maneuver the long hallways and, on occasion, to protect himself.

He shoved the memory away. The girl had disappeared into the bustle of activity filling the sidewalk. As the light turned yellow, he jogged across the street to follow her. A glance at the clock changed his mind. Even skipping the espresso, he was going to be late.

A deep, calming breath eased the tension in his shoulders. It was a good thing to do. Shake it off. Another cleansing breath unclenched his jaw.

Watch over her, Lord. I have a feeling she needs it. He turned at the corner. We both do.

– 2 –

The Sunday evening worship service at Faith Community Church released a horde of teens and young adults into the foyer. Kurt pressed back against the cool cement wall to avoid being trampled by an assortment of dirty sneakers, colorful flip-flops, and three-inch heels.

Many in the crowd greeted him as they surged past, offering high fives and throwing out one-liners. They jostled each other, laughing and chatting, checking their phones. Within minutes, the hum of activity and the aroma of fruity perfume and sweaty adolescents faded as the building emptied.

Retrieving the vacuum, he headed to the lobby. He gave thanks often for the growing number of kids attending the Sunday evening service as well as the Wednesday night activities. But it was the kids who’d never go near a church that he worried about and prayed over. Kids who didn’t dress or talk like these but who ached with the need for God, for hope, for grace in their hurting lives. He’d been one of them. He still was, at twenty-seven.

He finished vacuuming and stretched, his back and arm still sore from yesterday’s near hit-and-run. The wall clock showed thirty minutes until tip-off. Enough time to get something to eat before settling in to watch the Celtics beat the Knicks.

Stepping inside the quiet, spacious sanctuary, he dropped onto the cushioned back pew. The scent of candle wax drifted past where he sat in the fading sunlight. He enjoyed ending his workday in peacefulness like this.

Eyes closed, he offered the simple, familiar prayer. God, thanks for saving me from me. I don’t know why you didn’t just let me rot in prison but since you didn’t, I’ll do whatever I can to show you it wasn’t a mistake. I don’t know what that is, outside of cleaning this church and trying to help these kids, so I’ll just keep at it until you tell me different.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away. Nearly three years out of the joint but still on the defensive. Hey, Joel.

Sorry. I thought you heard me coming. The senior pastor dropped down beside him. Boy, this was a long day.

Yup.

Joel Barten, a man in his mid-forties who looked ten years younger, turned his head and offered a tired smile. Good work with the senior high kids last Wednesday. I don’t think I told you how impressed I was.

Kurt shrugged. No problem. It wasn’t work. He loved hanging out with the kids, talking about God stuff, trying to help them grasp the height and breadth and depth of a God who was beyond understanding. A God who could redeem a broken, useless life in the time it took to put knees to a prison cell floor. It seemed to go okay.

It was more than okay, my friend. I heard from several leaders what an outstanding job you did pinch-hitting for Mike. Most people can’t keep a hundred junior and senior high kids focused for ten minutes, let alone forty-five. He chuckled. I know I can’t. You shared some pretty powerful stuff that impacted both the kids and the leaders.

Kurt nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, the unexpected praise a sweet surprise. He was beyond grateful for this patient man who had led him to faith inside the prison walls, then offered friendship and a job when he got out. Thanks for letting me do it.

Joel stood and stretched. I’m beat. You gonna watch the Celtics?

He grinned. Of course.

No surprise there. See you Tuesday at the all-staff.

Ten minutes later, Kurt locked up the church and headed out to the back parking lot. He pulled in a deep breath of freshly tilled garden dirt, enjoying the chirp of sparrows nested above the light fixture.

The sound of shuffling feet stopped him mid-breath. He turned sharply, every muscle tensed as he scanned the grounds. A lone figure sat on a bench in the center of the garden area, hair pulled into a disheveled ponytail, hands deep in her coat pockets.

People from the neighborhood often came to enjoy the peaceful solitude of the gardens, but not usually this late. He hesitated. He should at least make sure she was okay before heading home.

The scuff of his footsteps was magnified in the stillness, and he had the sudden, ridiculous urge to tiptoe. He stopped a few feet from the bench and cleared his throat. The harsh sound broke the quiet of the evening. Hi.

Her head turned and their eyes connected. His widened, jumping to the canes resting beside her. It was the girl from the corner! He’d prayed for God to watch over her, to take care of whatever her issue was. Apparently He had—by dropping her back into Kurt’s lap. Now what?

Vanessa lifted her head. The guy looked familiar. She narrowed her gaze. I know you.

He settled onto the bench opposite her. I’m the guy who pushed you away from that car.

Yeah. The superhero guy.

A frown touched his face.

She bit her lip. That was uncalled for. I’m sorry. I was…rude yesterday. She dropped her gaze to the sidewalk between them. I appreciate what you did.

Well, it was probably a shock when I came at you outta nowhere. Are you okay? I was worried.

I’m fine. Thanks.

He relaxed into a smile. Good. We sure had a close call. So, I never got your name.

Vanessa.

Vanessa. That’s pretty. I’m Kurt. Have you been here long?

She glanced around. Had she? It was almost dark. Time had become unmeasurable since the accident. Minutes blurred into hours, days into weeks. I’m not sure. I was walking and saw the garden back here. What is this place?

Faith Community Church.

She swiveled sharply to look at the building behind her. Where was the steeple? The forbidding cross perched on the rooftop? The solid doors that kept people like her out? It doesn’t look like a church.

I don’t think so either. It’s a renovated warehouse.

I can’t believe this is where I ended up. It was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

Why?

She met his question with a challenging stare. Because I hate God.

He didn’t flinch. Why do you hate Him?

He’s a lousy God. She retrieved the canes and pushed to her feet. I can’t stay here.

Wait. He stood to face her. Can’t we talk some more? I can see something’s wrong.

Her fingers tightened around the handles. Are you the pastor?

No. Just the janitor. But I’d still like to help you.

The fire in her veins faded into numbing grief and her shoulders drooped. There’s nothing you can do. She released a slow breath. There’s nothing anyone can do.

Maybe if we talked a little…

She opened her mouth to argue but nothing came out. He’d never understand.

He sank back down on the bench, his expression hopeful. Can we sit just for another minute?

She’d run away if she could. But really, did it matter where she was? The pain would follow, wearing her down. It was like being flattened again and again by a steamroller—waves of grief sweeping over her, then rolling back even harder after she managed to grab a breath.

She lowered to the bench and set the canes beside her. Fading sunlight bathed the gardens in golden light. Sparrows resumed their gentle twittering.

The church guy pushed dark hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. What happened to make you hate God?

He… She swallowed. He took the kids. The words had a metallic taste.

He took the kids, he repeated, then sat up straight. Are they—did they…die?

She folded her arms across her stomach. Yes. The whispered word was a shout that echoed in her empty heart. She fought to hold her ground against the steamroller. How can they be gone? I did the best I could.

Did she? Could she? A light breeze ruffled her hair; overhead lights flickered to life, chasing back the encroaching darkness.

He waited, frowning.

Angie was…almost fourteen. Matt was sixteen. I promised… A memory surfaced—sitting at their mother’s bedside, clinging to her cold, thin hand. She had promised to watch over the kids, to carry on as best she could. She’d have promised the world at that moment.

What did you promise? His gentle question severed the memory.

Their gazes met before she looked away. To take care of them. I told my mother I would keep them safe.

She managed a nod. Why had she been left to figure out how to live, how to breathe without them? She focused on her hands clenched in her lap. It was my—My fault. It was my fault. She couldn’t say the words out loud.

I’m really sorry, Vanessa. How’s your dad holding up?

My parents divorced when I was young. He moved to California and we haven’t heard from him since.

His mouth formed a silent O. It was a moment before he spoke. So you have friends that help you?

She shrugged. I never had much time for friends. When my mom got sick, I helped care for the kids and the house. When she died, I quit college to work full time at her dance studio, but it closed after…after the… She bit her lip and blinked quickly.

Man, I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.

In the days and weeks after the accident, before people stopped coming by, she’d heard pity like that, seen helpless shock on their faces. It only magnified her loss, made the ache burn hotter. It had been a relief when they left her alone.

If I could just breathe without feeling like my heart will shatter. Pressing a fist against the constant ache in her chest, her voice was hoarse. If I could sleep without dreaming about them.

She welcomed the anger that straightened her spine. You want to know why I hate God? Because He took everything—my family, my future. Even my— She stopped and closed her eyes, clutching trembling hands together. Everything that mattered.

Signing the papers for Stephen yesterday had signed away the only work she knew how to do. The house was all she had left, but soon He would take that as well. When I go to bed, I hope I won’t wake up. But then I do, and I have to face another day alone. Thanks to Him.

The church guy tapped his foot quietly. I’d be mad at God too, he said finally.

He would? The visiting church people had told her God had a plan, a reason for everything that happened. Not one had commiserated with her, understood the suffocating fear and anger and shock.

I wish I had a good answer for you, Vanessa. I think, maybe, sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other is all we can do.

Yeah. If I had two feet. I suppose. The anger slid away, leaving her exhausted and battered, hands limp in her lap. I miss them every minute of every day. They were great kids, and I messed everything up.

How?

Her gaze clung to his kind face. Dark eyebrows angled over the sad questioning in his eyes, inviting her to tell him the whole sordid story. She looked away. I broke my promise.

But you’re young. No one would expect you to be able to do that.

I’m old enough to know better.

Better than what?

The longing returned but she clamped her lips and looked away with a shrug. It doesn’t matter. I can’t change anything now. She rose, the canes wobbling under the effort. I should go. I’m sorry you had to stay so late.

I’m not. I’m glad we talked. He stood. I’ll give you a ride home.

I can walk.

It’s too dark. Nobody should be out walking at this time of night. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.

She shrugged. It wouldn’t matter if you were.

It should. His response was firm. Everyone should be careful, especially in the city. He directed her across the empty parking lot to a small car that had seen better days. Once she was settled, he jogged around to the driver side. As the engine rattled to life, he raised an eyebrow. Which way?

She looked around then back at him. I’m not sure. I live at 33rd and Dupont, near Lake Calhoun. Does that help? It can’t be too far.

Not far at all.

Minutes later they were parked at the curb. The shadowy two-story seemed to shrink away from its light-filled neighbors. Four broad wooden steps led up to the front porch, which spread across the front of the house. An empty swing at one end swayed in the evening breeze. For an instant she saw Angie settled on it, blonde head bent over an ever-present book. A blink and the image vanished.

Why do I have to stay? Tears made the words sting. I did the best I could. What does God have against me?

I wish there was an answer for everything that’s happened.

Me too. She glanced at him then pushed the car door open. Thanks for the ride.

Not a problem. He climbed out and came around the car, then matched his pace to hers along the front sidewalk.

Her slow progress up the porch steps brought a burn to her cheeks. Her easy stride had been reduced to a painful Frankenstein kind of walk. She pulled open the screen door then turned to face him.

He held out a business card. I’m happy to listen, Vanessa. Anytime. Here’s my number at the church. Call me if you need anything, okay?

She accepted the card automatically and lifted her gaze to his. What she needed, he couldn’t offer. Thanks… She glanced at the card. Kurt. The tightness in her face softened. I appreciate it.

Once inside, she stood at the window and watched his taillights disappear around the corner. She stared into the darkness, the faint flicker in her heart fading with the lights. Silence and pain swept over her again and she drew back from the glass. For one brief moment she hadn’t felt so completely, utterly alone.

Kurt pulled away from the curb, an odd flutter in his chest as if the significance of what had just happened was far bigger than his ribs could contain. He was glad she’d come to the church, glad he hadn’t hurried past her to get home. He had a growing suspicion God had something to do with both.

The blue eyes that had locked on his were shadowed and red-rimmed, huge in her pale face. He’d had no answer for the tragedies that rocked her life, no great words of wisdom to give her peace.

Pastor Joel would have said all the right things, had the right answers. Made her feel better somehow. But it wasn’t Joel who had pushed her from the path of the car, and it wasn’t Joel who found her in the garden tonight.

Resolve swept through him, tightening his fingers around the steering wheel. Okay, God. I’m ready for whatever this is. Bring it on.

– 3 –

The staccato ring of the doorbell broke the silence, and Vanessa bolted upright on the couch, sending Merton to the floor with an offended meow. She rubbed her face, trying to clear her mind.

The dream about Matt and Angie had been a montage of picnics and school events, dance recitals and band concerts. Happier times when they’d all been together—laughing, talking, dancing. Pushing her hair from her face, she leaned against the back of the couch and swallowed over a lump of disappointment.

The bell rang again and she tossed the tattered afghan aside, grimacing as she swung her feet to the floor. She knew better than to nap with the artificial leg still attached. It always got tangled in the blanket and never wanted to cooperate when she tried to get up. She couldn’t get the hang of living with it, and it hurt like crazy when she put weight on it. There were times when it even ached where there was no leg to rub the pain away. She probably should have continued physical therapy.

With a muttered curse, she pushed herself up and straightened her sweatpants before limping to the door with the canes. The wood floor creaked beneath her uneven gait. Merton jumped up on the rocking chair and settled onto the cushion with his back to her, ears flat.

Sorry, Mertie.

Through the window she saw the guy from the church waiting on the porch and her heart jumped. He’s back? She’d been mortified at how pathetic she acted two nights ago. Should she apologize? Or maybe pretend she hadn’t heard the bell.

She pulled the front door open and squinted against the sunlight.

Hi. He grinned at her through the screen door.

She pushed it open. Hi.

Propping the door with his shoulder, he stuck his hands in his pockets. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see how you’re doing. And I’m dog-sitting. I thought you might like to meet my friend. He swept his arm back toward the golden retriever sitting at the bottom of the stairs. This is Fred.

Fred?

I know. He rolled his eyes. No self-respecting retriever should be named Fred. Duke or Prince, maybe. But not Fred.

The dog stood and gazed up at her, his long feathery tail swinging back and forth. Stepping onto the porch, she wrestled with the sudden desire to bury her face in his coat and cry. Biting her lip, she shoved the feeling down.